Juggling Act
by Marston Chicklet
Summary: Saving the world and raising triplets is like mixing white and red; mostly, you end up flat on your face. 7x100


Notes: Written in response to the 'Back from the Dead' challenge on GS100, and lovingly dedicated to everyone who doesn't get how anyone can have triplets and save the world at the same time.

———

Nothing worked: not earplugs, not stuffing towels in the cracks around the door frame, not even farming them out to Hermione's parents for the day. The cries of squalling infants echoed in her ears, like three Marleys with soiled diapers rattling their chains and wailing their discomfort.

She was grateful that Severus had agreed to go on paternity leave; it gave her a chance to doze in the office.

Of course, it was, at best, a mixed blessing: the night that Severus fell asleep on top of her, mid-coitus, was the night that she realised something had to be done.

———

Naturally, she couldn't blame him; he looked as though he hadn't slept in months (probably close to the truth), and she was certain that she wasn't much better. So it was with a sympathetic pat on the shoulder that she rolled him off her, tucked the sheets around him, and began making a list.

She had reached item one (Purchase mass quantities of Pepper-Up) before the squealing of what sounded like stuck pigs started up again. Fighting the urge to bury her head in her arms and weep, she stumbled over to the crib and began humming an out-of-tune lullaby.

———

She had to battle the same crushing despair a week later, when she found herself staring hopelessly at the invoice for the Pepper-Up Potion as the supply van drove away. Try as she might, she could think of no earthly reason that she would have ordered three hundred gallons of the Wizarding World's equivalent of caffeine pills.

A levitation charm spluttered and died at the end of her wand: ah, yes, there had been a reason.

Her nails bent back and broke as she tore at the packing tape, desperate for something to end the permanent thudding of her migraine.

The first swallow burned, and nearly sent her choking and sprawling across the grass. But armed with the knowledge that they had another two hundred and ninety-nine bottles of the stuff to get through, she sat down and braced herself, then took another swig.

It really wasn't bad after a few minutes, she thought, oblivious to the way that her heart was hammering at an alarming rate. Rather like hot chocolate with jalapeños mixed in.

Some time later, she noticed Severus (armed with Emma, Gemma, and Emily—why had she let him choose the names?) peering down at her in bewilderment.

———

Within a week, their house had descended into a further state of madness than had ever before been reached. Aided by an energy drink more potent than Red Bull, Severus and Hermione found themselves capable of the sort of harebrained schemes that they hadn't been able to manage during the post-partum phase of their relationship.

It started with Severus' idea of the business of developing and dispensing perfumes. They could use the Pepper-Up that way—distinctly spicy scent—no one would ever know... And somehow, from there, they came up with a circus act.

Three babies would be _perfect_ for juggling.

———

It must have been somewhere during rehearsals that Mrs Muldred from next door poked her head in, because the next thing they were aware of was a knock at the door and a group of Aurors bursting in, armed to the teeth.

And madness descended into pandemonium. One Auror wrestled Emma—or was it Gemma?—from Severus' hands before tackling him and cuffing his hands. She felt an explosion in her chest and her knees crumpled.

The last thing that Hermione heard before being hit by a Stunning Spell was a robotic male voice, chanting, "We have a Level Five Situation..."

———

Upon waking in St Mungo's hospital, Hermione found that combined stress and Pepper-Up had induced a heart attack; Severus had suffered from similar side effects.

She would be required to undergo three months of rehabilitation and prove that she no longer had any Pepper-Up in her possession before being allowed to regain custody of her children. After a thorough lecture from some officers of the law, she was wheeled in to her husband's room.

"Sorry," she said, once they were left alone.

His mouth twisted wryly in response. "I wouldn't worry. This is the only holiday we'll have for years."


End file.
